A Matter of Trust
by Perri Smith
Summary: If you fall, I will catch you/I will be waiting...." When Van Pelt is in danger, Jane and Rigsby will try anything to save her.


**Title:** A Matter of Trust  
**Author:** Perri Smith  
**Feedback:** makes me high (perri at neon-hummingbird dot com)  
**Category:** drama  
**Spoilers:** Through 1.13, for the sake of argument, although there's nothing explicit except Rigsby's thing for Van Pelt  
**Rating:** PG  
**Distribution:** Please do not distribute or archive without permission

**Notes:** Written a) to mess around with a hoary old cop show/shipper trope and turn it on its head a little and b) because it ATE MY BRAIN. And yes, a) is a total justification for b). Your point? **Thanks to:** Christina K for the alpha read and for getting it, and to miladygrey for the awesome beta.

0o0o0o0o0

**A Matter of Trust**

Jane pounds up the stairwell two steps behind Lisbon, who always manages to be faster than he is despite her much shorter legs. Something about intensity translating to speed, he suspects when he has time to think about it, which he doesn't at the moment. The sun explodes around them as Lisbon shoves the stairwell door open and they surge onto the black gravel of the roof.

Van Pelt's voice hits him first, harsh and shrill with an edge he's never heard from her. Van Pelt works incredibly hard at being nice, unless she's arresting someone she dislikes. It takes a second for him to orient himself, the sunlight still blinding him, but Lisbon moves immediately, as if an internal GPS is locked onto her team at all times. Jane follows her around the corner, to where Van Pelt is forced back into a corner of the roof, her weapon moving jerkily as she tries to train it on all of the bodies slowly moving in on her.

"Get back!" Lisbon orders the agents and officers clustered on the roof, and Van Pelt's head whips around towards her boss. So does her weapon. Lisbon meets her eyes and walks slowly forward, through the retreating uniforms. "Van Pelt. Lower your weapon."

Lisbon's voice leaves no room for debate; even Jane occasionally obeys when she uses that tone. Van Pelt's arms start to fall automatically, but whatever's in her system overrides training and duty, and her weapon snaps up again, shaking slightly but no less dangerous for that.

"Get away from me!" Van Pelt says through her tightly-gritted teeth. Jane has worked his way close enough now to see the white powder dusting her red hair and sifted across her pale green jacket, like snow over grass. But he's gotten too close for Van Pelt; the gun swings his way, although not far enough for Lisbon to make a move.

"Grace," he says quietly, calmly, deliberately contrasting himself to Lisbon. Good cop, bad cop, except he's not a cop and Van Pelt isn't a criminal. "No one is going to hurt you, Grace. You know who we are, you know we're here to help you."

Van Pelt's head is tilted as if she's listening to something, but he has a bad feeling it isn't him. She shakes her head once, twice, and swipes at her eyes with her free hand. The movement makes her stagger, and Jane and Lisbon both move forward involuntarily before Van Pelt catches herself.

"Van Pelt!" Lisbon snaps, trying to get her attention back. "Van Pelt, look at me! Put your weapon down!"

"Grace!" Jane raises his voice, but keeps it soothing. "Please move out here, away from the edge. You can keep your weapon," and Lisbon throws him a glare that he ignores, "but please move a little further away from the edge. No one wants to hurt you, we just want you to be safe."

"No!" Van Pelt moves restlessly, shifting her weight from foot to foot, but at least she's looking at them again. If only he could be sure she was seeing them. Her eyes flick back and forth so quickly he can't be sure she's actually registering anything, and she swipes her hand across them again.

The door from the stairwell keeps opening, and Lisbon risks looking away from Van Pelt long enough to gesture incoming cops to stay the hell away from them. Jane takes a step forward, trying to keep Van Pelt from noticing. "Grace. Do you know how you got up here, Grace?"

She looks confused, shakes her head again as if trying to clear it, staggers again. "I... Something hit me. There was something in my eyes. I don't...."

"We were making the bust." Lisbon again. "There were more men inside than we expected. You got cut off. We think you were hit with a bag of cocaine. It broke and you inhaled it."

"What you're feeling isn't real," Jane picks up smoothly, pulling Van Pelt's focus back to him. "Some of the drug got in your system, it's making you feel things that aren't real."

"Drugs?" For a second, he thinks they've gotten through to her, but then her eyes harden. "You drugged me."

"No." Lisbon takes a step forward, her hands held out wide, open and empty. "No, we didn't, Grace. We're your team. We wouldn't do that and you know it."

"Grace. Trust us." Jane matches Lisbon's move, smiling gently. "You know us, you know you can trust us."

"No. No, I can't. You lie," she tells Jane, and it knocks the wind out of him. "You lie all the time, whenever you want to, whenever you think it'll be funny. You're lying now, you're trying to trick me!" She steps backward, away from them, towards the edge, and Lisbon's hands fly up.

"Grace, no, stop! We're not lying to you, we're backing up, please stop moving."

Van Pelt stops, but her feet still shift restlessly, and so does the gun. Jane lowers himself to the rooftop, crossing his legs to sit Indian-style, his hands held out to the side in the most nonthreatening pose he can think of.

"Get Rigsby," he tells Lisbon quietly, keeping his warm smile in place and not looking away from Van Pelt. Lisbon's gaze jerks towards him, surprised at the request or surprised that he's telling her to leave. "Clear out as many people as you can, and get Rigsby," he repeats.

Lisbon suddenly gets it, and moves away; he can hear her giving low-voiced orders to clear the rooftop, hear her on her cell phone summoning Rigsby. Jane smiles at Van Pelt, smiles and smiles, and tries not to tell any lies. "Grace, it's going to be all right. I know you're confused and scared, but no one here wants to hurt you. We're all just going to wait here until you feel safe again."

Every moment Jane holds Van Pelt's life in his hands stretches forever; he wishes he really was psychic, and even though he's not, he mentally urges Rigsby to hurry.

0o0o0o0o0

Lisbon intercepts Rigsby before he gets more than a few feet out of the stairwell; he almost runs her over before he realizes who she is and that she's trying to stop him.

"Where is she? What the hell is happening?" he demands, forgetting that this is his boss and that he usually fears her a little. Right now, she's just someone standing between him and Grace.

"Calm down, Rigsby," Lisbon orders, like that's going to happen. "If you're not calm, you can't help her. She's on the edge of the roof with her sidearm, and she's got cocaine in her system. It's a bad trip. We need to talk her down, and you need to be calm!" She catches him by the arms to drag his shoulders down, so she can say the last part directly into his face.

Her intensity breaks into his panic just enough; she holds his eyes as if to be sure he's back in control. He takes deep, sharp breaths and finally nods, and she releases him. "Good. Jane's got her right now, but it looks like she's having a paranoid reaction to the drugs, and I don't know how long he can keep her talking."

If Grace is so far gone that Jane can't talk her down, Jane, who regularly hypnotizes confessions out of witnesses and murderers... Rigsby doesn't want to think about that. Doesn't know what he can do that Jane can't.

"Right now, in her mind, she doesn't think she can trust anyone." Lisbon is still talking, still trying to keep him focused. "Hopefully she'll trust you."

'Because she knows you're stupid in love with her, even if it's something you never talk about, ever,' is the unspoken subtext. Rigsby looks at her with something that feels weirdly like betrayal and she shrugs, sympathy in her eyes, but no give. But there is fear and even helplessness there -- two things he never thought he'd see from his boss.

He pushes down on his panic, unclips his weapon to hand it to Lisbon, and walks around the stairwell towards Grace.

Rigsby hears Jane before he sees him, talking steadily and soothingly from where he's sitting on the gravel, probably ruining his expensive suit. But Rigsby's attention is all on Grace, standing so close to the edge of the roof that his heart actually stops for a second. If she slips or jumps, it's 10 stories down, and he's seen that results of that kind of fall. For a second, he sees Grace's head shattered, her beautiful hair soaked with blood, and he almost staggers. But he's been a cop for a long time and he shoves the image away to do his job. To help his friend.

To save Grace.

"Van Pelt." Her head snaps up when he says her name. Jane stops talking, sitting absolutely motionless as Rigsby moves slowly next to him. "Grace. What's going on?" He says it conversationally, as if he's actually just curious, and sees Jane nod slightly.

Grace shakes her head abruptly, like she's trying to clear it. "Someone drugged me," she says furiously, but with the edge of a sob behind it. "I didn't do this, Rigsby, someone drugged me. Someone drugged me!" Her voice rises almost to a scream and she trains her weapon on Jane, making it clear who her prime suspect is.

Rigsby doesn't even think, just eases in front of Jane until he's between the gun and his teammate. "Jane didn't do it, Grace. One of the scumbags we've got downstairs did. We found the room, there's powder everywhere. Everyone's in custody." He holds his open hands out a little and risks a step forward. "It's over, Grace. Whoever hurt you, we got him."

She finally meets his eyes, and it just about kills him to see the fear and confusion in their dark brown depths. He takes another step without even thinking about it, holding out his hand. "Van Pelt. Come on. I'll take you downstairs, you can see the son of a bitch for yourself. Just tell us which one, and he goes down for assaulting an agent, on top of the drug charges."

Grace takes a hesitant step towards him, then catches herself, backing up. The gun shakes in her hand and Rigsby has to stop himself from leaping forward to stop her. "You could be lying. I don't know... I can't trust you."

It's the drugs talking, he reminds himself, and he doesn't have time to feel hurt. "You know I can't lie to you, Van Pelt. I can't lie to anyone, I'm a crappy liar." Which is completely true and Grace actually makes a sound that might have been a laugh under other circumstances. He takes it as a good sign, and moves forward a little more. "You know you can trust me, Grace. You know I could never hurt you. I just want you to be safe."

There are other things he could say, about how long he's watched her, wanted her, waited for her. The things he would do for her, how much he wants to damage anyone who has ever hurt her. How much he loves her. He could say everything he's ever wanted to tell her, and he's pretty sure she never wants to hear, if he didn't think it would do more harm than good right now.

But his face has always been an open book, so maybe she's seeing it now, because the anger is starting to fade from her eyes, and her weapon is drooping slowly. "Please, Grace," he asks quietly. "Please trust me. I will take care of you. I will help you make this go away. Just please trust me."

Grace closes her eyes, and he sees tears start to run down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the dusting of white powder that lays like makeup over her pale skin. Rigsby takes the chance, moves slowly, carefully, close enough to close his hand around the gun, and pull it gently out of her grasp. He clicks the safety on and kneels enough to send the gun spinning across the roof, far away from Grace.

When Rigsby straightens, her eyes are open again. She's confused and scared, but she sees him through the haze of drugs, recognizes him. "It's okay, Grace. I've got you. It's okay." He holds his hand out to her, not quite daring to touch her. "We need to get off the roof. Will you come with me?"

She's shaking now, starting to come down, maybe, her legs unsteady as she takes a step away from the edge, then another. He bites down on his relief, trying to keep his face calm. "You want some help?" he offers when she pauses. She swallows, then nods. "Okay. Put your arm around my shoulders. I've got you."

She does what he asks, and he carefully lifts her in his arms in a way that will probably embarrass her later, but he doesn't care. He's not going to give the drugs a chance to change her mind. She's tall and solid, her weight pulling at his arms and shoulders, but he doesn't really notice over the relief of knowing that she's safe. He wants to bury his face in her hair, breathe her in, but it would be a betrayal of her trust.

And also, she's still got coke in her hair, and the last thing they need is _two_ stoned agents.

Jane and Lisbon fall into place on either side of him as he carries Grace towards the stairwell, almost running by the time he gets there. He doesn't stop until the door slams closed behind him, doesn't let her legs swing to the ground until they're a full flight down, away from the roof. Grace is shaking too hard to move away, leaning against Rigsby as if he's the only thing holding her up; he winds up sliding down the wall until they're both on the floor, her shoulder digging into his chest and his arms still around her. This will also probably embarrass her later. He still doesn't care.

Lisbon stays for a minute, long enough to be sure they're both okay, before stalking off yelling orders, calling for an ambulance. Cho appears with bottled water and a t-shirt he found somewhere, and Rigsby wonders absently where he's been all this time -- hasn't it been hours? Jane takes on the job of wiping Grace's face and hair off with the wet t-shirt; Grace fights him at first, but finally lets him work. Jane moves carefully, gently smoothing strands of damp auburn as he goes. Grace's eyes are wide, her pupils dilated, and her entire body shakes against Rigsby's.

"Good job," Jane says quietly, as he urges Grace to drink from one of the bottles. Rigsby nods, tightens his arms around Grace, and leans his head sideways against the wall, too tired to do anything else.

0o0o0o0o0

Grace wakes from unpleasant dreams, a confused blur of heat and fear and bright light, and choking on something she can't clear away. The dimness that greets her when she opens her eyes is almost a relief, except that she doesn't know where she is.

"Grace?" It's Lisbon, leaning forward from a chair next to Grace's bed -- bed? hospital bed? Why is she in a hospital bed? There's a quiet shuffle of movement and suddenly Jane is leaning over her other side, smiling cheerfully down at her. He looks rumpled, like right after someone wakes him up from the couch in the squad room, and Lisbon has circles under her eyes.

"What's going on?" Grace asks and tries to lift her hand. The alien presence of an IV needle stops her. "Is this... the hospital? What...? When...?"

"You're fine," Jane reassures her immediately, patting her hand below the IV.

"Everything's fine," Lisbon says at almost the same time. She and Jane exchange small smiles, and Jane tilts his head, conceding explanations to Lisbon. Lisbon pulls her chair a little closer. "You are in the hospital and it's about midnight. What do you remember?"

"I..." Grace closes her eyes, tries to find the last thing that is clear. "We... were making the bust. The Manetti ring. Joint op with LAPD." It's coming slowly, but more and more clearly. "I was with two officers, Ryan and Ortiz. We were in the basement, and a perp was shoving bags of drugs into a duffel. I told him to freeze and he... threw something at me. I... I'm not sure..."

"He hit you in the face with a kilo of cocaine, trying to distract you so he could get to his gun," Lisbon picks up after Grace loses the fragile thread of events. "Officer Ortiz took him down, but the bag burst when it hit you. Crappy quality control." It's a wry attempt at a joke, and Grace tries to smile.

"You inhaled a pretty sizeable dose, and it sent you on a very bad trip." Jane's hand is still lying over Grace's and it's both comforting and uncomfortable, since Jane never touches anyone without a motive. He and Lisbon look at each other over her bed in another one of their silent conversations.

"Just tell me," Grace says. "Please. I'd rather know." Because the flashes she's getting -- oh god, did she hold a gun on Jane? -- are far more disturbing than the truth could be. She hopes.

Lisbon nods, and Jane leans back again, letting Lisbon to the talking. "The cocaine made you hyper and paranoid, and the meth it was cut with didn't help with either of those. You made it to the roof, probably trying to get air, but by then the drug was hitting you pretty hard. An LAPD officer noticed you acting strangely and tried to approach you. You drew your weapon."

"Oh, god." Hiding under the covers seems like a wonderful idea, but she's an adult and a CBI agent, and so she just closes her eyes. Which is a mistake, since a few memories suddenly leap into clarity. "Did I... Jane, did I hold my gun on you?"

"Yes, you did. Don't worry, I didn't take it personally." His voice is amused, his horrible sense of humor kicking in, and Grace opens her eyes enough to glare at him for it. He hastily hides his grin. "Seriously, Van Pelt. It wasn't your fault."

"No, it wasn't," Lisbon agrees firmly, frowning at Jane across the bed. "You scared us for a while because you kept getting way too close to the edge of the roof, but we were never worried about you hurting anyone." And that's a lie, as coolly as Lisbon delivers it; Grace has been working with Jane long enough to know the signs. But she lets it go for now, more interested in grabbing at another elusive memory.

"Who.... Did you talk me down?" she asks Jane, somehow sure that's wrong.

Jane actually has to take a second to plan his answer, so Grace is sure she's not going to like it. "I didn't," he says finally, bluntly. "Rigsby did."

"Oh," Grace says faintly. So the impressions she has of Rigsby pleading with her, of strong arms actually carrying her down a dark, cool stairway, are probably real. "God."

"Yeah." Lisbon's voice is wry again, but sympathetic. "He and Cho are outside; the doctor would only let two of us sit with you at a time."

"Oh, god," she repeats helplessly. "What do I say to him?"

"'Thank you' is a good starting point," Jane offers, not unkindly. "I honestly don't think he expects anything more than that. He's just happy you're okay. We all are."

He squeezes her hand, and she can see actual sincerity in his eyes, not the fake version he puts on for his latest marks. She squeezes back without thinking and he smiles, then lets go as he straightens. "I'm going to go let them know you're awake. Are you up for more visitors?"

Grace bites her lip and looks at Lisbon, who spreads her hands, indicating a total lack of opinion. Jane is waiting for her answer, cheerful and noncommittal, and she knows he'll put Rigsby off if she asks, do it politely and kindly and with no possibility of refusal.

But she's an adult and a CBI agent. And Rigsby is her teammate and her friend, who maybe saved her life. "Yes, it's okay. I'd like to see them."

Jane smiles again and Lisbon looks approving. "Okay. We'll sneak them in before the doctors can take over."

It's only a minute before Cho and Rigsby appear in the doorway; like the rest of their team, they look as if they've been abruptly awakened after a rough night. Cho stands awkwardly next to Grace's bed where Jane had been and even more awkwardly pats her hand while telling her he's glad she's okay. For Cho, that's an effusive expression of deep relief. He leaves quickly, escaping the possibility of emotion and probably grateful he'll get to spend the rest of the night in his own bed; she doesn't hold it against him.

Rigsby hangs back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her when he thinks she's not looking. It's easier for him after two nurses and a doctor take over the room in spite of Jane's attempt at sneakiness. They fuss around Grace, checking her vital signs and asking her simple questions ("What's your name?" "Where do you work?" "Who is that?", pointing at Lisbon) which Grace answers correctly.

"We're going to keep you the rest of the night," the doctor says finally, "just to make sure nothing nasty is still in your system. But you seem to be fine, Agent Van Pelt. Take it easy and try to get some sleep. If you're hungry, I'll have a light meal brought up to you."

Grace is a little hungry, but doesn't want hospital food, so she refuses. She regrets doing that a few minutes later, when Jane and Lisbon leave to go find 'real food' and she finds herself alone with Rigsby, which can't have been an accident. And what exactly do you say to a teammate you know is in love with you and who just saved your life?

"Thank you," she says finally, because Jane is right and that's the only place to start. Rigsby shrugs without uncrossing his arms, clearly as uncomfortable as she is; he's going to a serious amount of effort not to meet her eyes. It's... really not pleasant. "Could you sit down, please? The hovering is getting to me."

"Right. Sorry." He leaves the back wall and takes over Lisbon's chair, surreptitiously pushing it back a few inches from the bed. For some reason, that makes Grace feel guilty.

"Don't... don't apologize. For anything. You saved me."

He shrugs again, taps his thumbs against his knees, and stares fixedly at the sheets over her legs. Okay, he's even *more* uncomfortable than she is. She sighs. "Rigsby. Wayne," she tries when he still doesn't raise his eyes. "Could you look at me?"

He finally does, and she doesn't know what to do with what she sees. Relief, exhaustion, worry -- all of it layered over the intensity with which he looks at her, as if her face is suddenly the only thing in the room. She closes her eyes involuntarily, then forces them back open as soon as she realizes she's done it.

"I remember pointing a gun at Jane," she says carefully. "You... stepped in front of him, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Rigsby confirms, his voice a little gritty from sleep, or lack of it. "Reflex."

"And you carried me off the roof," she persists.

His cheekbones and ears flush a dull red, and he's back to studying the sheets. "You weren't walking very well, and we were up pretty high. It seemed like a good idea."

She nods. "It was. Thank you." She reaches out to lay her fingers on his forearm, over the fading burn scar, and he looks at her hand like he doesn't know what to do with it.

"I didn't do it so... I mean, I wasn't...."

"I know." She knows he doesn't want her gratitude, knows he would have done it for anyone trapped the way she had been. But she also knows it was a lot harder for him because it *was* her.

She tightens her grip on his arm, shakes it a little in an affectionate gesture between teammates who are also friends, and finds a smile somewhere. "Thank you, Rigsby," she says one more time, and wills him to understand that she means that, and nothing else.

He gets it, finally; at least, a slow smile spreads over his face and some of the tension goes out of his big frame. Not all of it, but some, and he meets her eyes again. "You're welcome. Just... don't do that again. You took about ten years off my life."

It's her turn to blush. "I wasn't really planning on it. Ever. God, why do people do drugs willingly?"

"Because they're crazy coke heads?" Rigsby leans forward to twitch her blanket back up over her knees where it's slipped, and Grace pretends not to notice. Old habits die hard. "Do they need another reason?"

"They have to have a reason to start, don't they?"

Shop talk is easy, and slides into talking about football and basketball and nothing in particular, avoiding all possible undercurrents, although Grace knows now that she's going to have to start dealing with them. This... thing Rigsby has for her isn't going away, and it would be cruel to leave him hanging.

Jane and Lisbon come back with smuggled hamburgers, and Jane teases Grace about the day's events until she's past the point of blushing anymore, which is actually going to make going back to the office much easier. And when she's too tired to talk anymore, Jane and Lisbon gather up the trash and slip out of the room -- it's Rigsby who stays in the chair next to her, reading an ancient issue of Sports Illustrated and making sure she's not alone as she goes to sleep. And Grace is okay with that.

She trusts him.

**Fin**


End file.
